


Will You Stand Above Me?

by Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Breakfast Club References, Crossover, Magic-Users, Multi, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:57:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe/pseuds/Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe
Summary: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  October 1985.We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice four Saturdays in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. But we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us - in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a Hufflepuff... a Gryffindor ... a Slytherin ... and a Ravenclaw.  Does that answer your question?





	1. Take On Me

**Author's Note:**

> Rated Mature for language.

**Thursday, October 3, 1985**

 

_Asterope_

 

Asterope Selwyn cut right after Arithmancy.  She told Burke that she had to talk to Professor Lloyd about the essay that was due the following week.  She told Rowle, who was waiting in the hallway, that she had forgotten her Charms homework and had to run back to the common room to collect it.  “You know how Flitwick is.  I probably won’t make it.  Tell Ceto and the Ohs that I’ll see them at dinner.”

Instead, she dropped her bag behind a disapproving statue of Wenlock the Arithmancer and made her way down to the first floor and out the front door of the Castle.

It was always easier than she expected.  The entrance was not spelled against student escape.   _Perhaps the act itself was too brazen?_  Asterope didn’t have any backup plans in the event of capture.  She almost didn’t care.  Almost.  Due to a brief moment of _should I_ _shouldn’t I_ she disillusioned herself before setting off to Hogsmeade.  When Asterope was outside the anti-apparition point she blinked out with a bright pop and found herself in the doorway of an abandoned shop front that she had seen once in 1976 when a Nanny had taken her out of Diagon Alley.  At the time, it had been the back end of a bustling sweets shop (and the Nanny had lost her job for it).  Now it was a spray painted awning on a street of the same.  The first time, she had appeared in the depths of the Tomb-Chapel of Nebamun, a Muggle excusing themselves as they’d _not noticed you there_.  The second time had been in a bathroom stall in Harrods.  Asterope pulled her robes tighter before setting off for the Cinema two blocks over.  

As nonchalantly as possible, she moved out of the recessed doorway and into the street.  Using her three years of mandated Muggle Studies, she knew enough to go to the crossing light to not be run over by an electric carriage.  A harried woman in a drab muggle overcoat pushing a pram gave her an insolent look and a merchant lost his hold on a wall of apples, one rolling into a filthy sewer grate.  Feeling slightly conspicuous, she removed her cashmere robe and continued to walk as confidently as she was able - which was pretty confident owing to the purity of her blood status.  Asterope had to confund the ticket servant as she had run through her allowance already and while she had her Gringott’s key going straight to Diagon Alley would be tantamount to surrender.  They'd send someone to collect her anyway.  Parenting by proxy being the Selwyn way.

For two hours, she sat in the back of a theatre desperately seeking Susan.  Clearly a Slytherin.  Asterope made careful study of the American’s clothing choices.  She sat through the film a second time, this time eating the cucumber sandwiches the house elf had brought her that morning, still crisp due to a lasting charm.

She then shoplifted about $80 worth of makeup, a red bra, and _almost_ a pair of gothic white lace boots.  They fit easily into the extended pocket of her robes.  She was starting to lose faith in the system when the ministry official joined her on the bench where she working on a pistachio cone.  “We meet again.”

“I guess you’re here to take me in.”  Asterope said with perfect hauteur.  She didn't stop working on the cone.

“We have to stop meeting like this, Asterope.  I'm going to start thinking you like me.”  Otto, nearing seventy with a flyaway comb-over, said without a hint of humor.  “I’m considering a form letter to your parents.”

“It's _Miss Selwyn,_ Otto.”  She almost covered the flare of excitement from her face.  “Are you going to send the letter right away?”

“After I deposit you at Hogwarts.”  Almost certainly to _Filch._  She could handle him.  He was only a Squib.  “ _Miss Selwyn_ ,” he invited before taking her arm for a side-along to Hogsmeade.  His brown corduroy had ice cream on the sleeve when they got there.

A greatly putout Slughorn was waiting in the Three Broomsticks for them.  Asterope was genuinely surprised to see her Head of House.  “I can take it from here, Mr Bones.”

“Mr Slughorn.”  Otto greeted him before turning to Asterope.  “I trust we won't see each other again, _Miss Selwyn._ ”

“I hope you understand I cannot make any promises, Otto.”  With a scowl, Otto made his exit.

“Sit down.”  Slughorn said more sternly than Asterope had ever heard and she immediately obeyed him.  “I hope you realize how very putout I am over having to sort out this unplanned field trip of yours.   _Again_.  This is my only free period.”  

Asterope felt the rebellion start to fade. She dropped her eyes.

“I think we both know that you have forced my hand in the matter of your truancy.  I can hardly overlook a third excursion into the Muggle world while under my guardianship at Hogwarts.  Turn out your pockets.”

She dug out the drugstore makeup and the bra, dropping them on the table.  “Merlin’s beard, put that away!”  He turned away, obviously scandalized by the appearance of her undergarments in the Three Broomsticks.  She didn’t have to be asked twice.  After a suitable amount of time, Slughorn turned back to look at her and vanished her drugstore haul.  “I don’t understand why you keep doing this.  You come from a perfectly respectable House,” she could hear the capital H, “and I know Endymion would be more than content to give you whatever you desired.”  It was true, her father bought her whatever she wanted.  Especially if Iris said no.  And as long as she didn’t ask for time.  “And _muggle_ things!?”  Here, Slughorn was at a loss.  

Asterope did not enlighten him.

“I’m going to have to give you detention.”  He sounded regretful and she was genuinely surprised that he was actually punishing her.

“Detention?”

“My hands are tied, Asterope.  I can’t let you run around breaking school rules without some sort of consequence.  It makes me look weak to my colleagues.”

Asterope pouted.  “One detention with you?”

“A month of detentions.  Saturday detentions with, presumably, Berenger.”

“The _flying instructor_?  You can’t be serious!”

“Completely.  I can only hope,” and his voice said it was an edict, “that this will snap you out of whatever path of juvenile delinquency you seem to be so determined to travel down.” 

“This is completely unfair!”

“Well, so was having to give up my Elvish wine and a fire in this weather.”  He draped a large, ermine cloak around his shoulders, standing and motioning for her to follow.  “And don’t pout.  It’s undignified for a Slytherin.”

\------

 

_Wilkie_

 

Due to the table arrangement, the Ravenclaws were the first to see Asterope Selwyn enter the Great Hall and go straight to the Court, the pure-blooded students who always sat together at the Slytherin table.  It wasn’t exactly _her_ Court as Ceto Lestrange owned that title.  And it wasn’t just Slytherins either.  Among a rotation of Blishwicks, Crouches, Carrows, and Travers sat Alastair Fawley, the _only_ cool Ravenclaw.  Gaylord Wilkie, the first 15-year-old 7th year in a century, hero worshipped Alastair. The one time he’d sat near him, he’d spilled pumpkin juice in his lap.  And sat, damply, for an hour before making his escape.

Selwyn was twenty minutes late.  He would have rather died than attract so much attention.  “If I made an entrance like that, I would be doing lines with Flitwick.”  

As much as they hated her, however much her family were a coven of wankers, or however blind she had to be with her nose so high in the air, people looked when Selwyn entered a room.  As more than one girl had noted in the six years of Selwyn’s tenure at Hogwarts, her good looks were wasted on such an awful person.  It was said that her only redeeming virtue was that she wasn’t Ceto Lestrange.  “Typical Slytherin.”

The only person not paying attention - owing in no small part to a covert exchange of goods with a fifth year Hufflepuff - was Rhys Davies.  It was doubtful that he even knew who she was or sober enough to remember if he did.  He had cache in his own way.  Davies was enormous (around 6’5”) and had a tattoo - a _Muggle_ tattoo - on his right forearm in black script that said: _Mudblood_.  A big fuck you to the purebloods.  It was rumored that he had a naked woman on his left forearm that shimmied when he flexed it but Wilkie hadn’t found anyone who could verify that.  The name “Davies” had come to be synonymous with trouble.  Particularly in the mouths of any teacher at Hogwarts. His mates, Trev Arstable and Addy Dickon, were in the same vein, although a bit less intimidating in build.  Wilkie stayed as far away from them as he did the Court.  

From the High Table, Madame Pomfrey kept trying to make eye-contact with him.  He was studiously avoiding her eyes.  He had been looking into his pumpkin juice so long that Nigel, Wilkie’s only friend and a third-year, had joined him wondering what could possibly be in there.  Wilkie knew it had to do with the reason he was serving his first ever detention the upcoming Saturday… and the next three after that.  A month’s worth of detention for poisoning Jane Harber’s frog.  Which had been an accident, though sadly unfixable.  The potion had been for himself and Wilkie had never intended to survive it.  Not after suffering the greatest shame of his life.

He was failing flying.

The weight of the Wilkie family honor, tarnished somewhat after his Uncle Sylvester had gone to Azkaban for supplying Ministry information to Voldemort, now rested solely on his shoulders.  He had a sister, but she was eleven and had sorted into Gryffindor.  So it was all on Gaylord to fix the family fortunes.  Something his mother never tired of reminding him in her daily letters.  A big helping of guilt between admonitions for forgetting his socks and reminders that he needed to eat more vegetables.  

Wilkie had a feeling that Pomfrey knew he hadn’t intended to kill Jane Harber’s frog.  That in fact, unlike Slughorn who had the mental acumen of a box of rocks, he had intended it for himself.  And despite the fourteen page letter he’d received from his mother demanding that he convince the administration of his innocence, he was perfectly willing to sit four detentions rather than admit what he’d actually been up to.

“Do you want to brainstorm tonight for yearbook features?”  Nigel asked.  Being on the Yearbook Club was good for his future prospects, so Wilkie had chosen it for an elective.  

“I guess so.  I have an essay to write tonight.”  Not for himself, of course.  But for Ophiuchus Greengrass or maybe Orpheus.  He couldn’t tell them apart.  But one of the Ohs needed four feet on turning vinegar into wine.  And Wilkie had been volunteered into providing it.  

“You really have to do a lot of essays in 7th year.”  Nigel marvelled.  Wilkie huffed non-committally.  His lack of coolness didn’t bother him most of the time.  He accepted his place in the hierarchy of Hogwarts.  But there was no way he wanted his only friend to know he was being used for his wit beyond measure.

\------

 

_Royse_

 

Alys Royse, who had no friends at all, kept mostly to herself at the end of the Hufflepuff table. A dark sheath of hair hid her face - currently about three inches from the table - as she leaned over the notebook she always carried.  Alys pushed her plate aside to do a quick sketch of Alastair Fawley.  It was a perfect likeness in a few strokes.  She had captured the glance he had given Asterope Selwyn, only about two seconds on his face, revealing his very unrequited adoration.  Until such time as the image was destroyed, it would forever replay the lovesick look of a 17-year-old boy.  But only for Alys.  No one had ever shown an interest in wanting to see them.  And she would never have expected anyone to even want to see it.

She often sat with the first-years at the end of the table although she was a fifth-year.  Sometimes she would sit with the rest of her year, but no one ever talked to her, so it didn’t really make a difference.  Alys was used to it.  Even her parents never bothered to tell her where they were going for holidays.  The headmaster had once called her Cheryl and she answered to “that girl” as if it were her name.  Sometimes, she would sit in the common room at night and talk to the Hufflepuff house elf - Bippy - who cleaned up while everyone slept.  Bippy had responded at first because she had to.  A witch was talking to her.  But after third year, when it became obvious that Alys wasn’t going to stop, she finally consented to tea.  Alys was careful to phrase her requests for her company as commands.  Bippy would use an espresso cup and she would listen to everything the elf had heard that day.  Alys never realized that she was expected to respond in kind until Bippy told her that most wizards did so.  

Bippy, who thought of it as her duty to mother the girl, had managed to prise quite a bit from her.  Bippy had spent many a pleasant evening under the bubble of a warming spell Alys had cast watching the witch twist and zoom over the Quidditch pitch.  She had posed for a watercolor with a bowl of fruit on her head and then proudly displayed it to her fellow House Elves to much acclaim.  In it, she would always be stopping a banana from falling out of the bowl.  And she took great pride in categorizing and dusting all the stolen things Alys collected.  

“But you know that Master Kit does not lock his broom closet,” Bippy had once mentioned slyly.  Alys talked a lot about flying.  “He’s so kind, I don’t think he would mind if you borrowed it.”

There was no question of asking him - Alys wouldn’t have even considered it.  She had never learned to respect possessions as hers were co-opted so often.  Kit Dench was the Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team.  He was peripherally related to the Court, mostly due to being a pure-blood and an athlete, but was known to be a very generous, approachable person.  Enough so that Alys had no qualms about borrowing his second best broom - a Nimbus 1001 that had a slight inclination to the left that she had to compensate for - and using it to fly around the Quidditch pitch alone at night.  She had spent the better part of her childhood doing pretty much whatever she pleased while her sitter had forgotten she was there.  Primarily flying around on broomsticks from an appallingly young age.  If anyone had ever asked, she would have been happy to play with them, but no one ever did.

She always returned the broom in proper shape - often in better shape than she’d taken it - and no one noticed that it was being used at night.  It rather liked her, she thought, abandoned by Kit for a newer model.  

Kit Dench himself was at the other end of the table with the other 7th years.  He always sat with the Hufflepuffs.  They adored him and he gave their affection right back.  The sketch Alys had made of him earlier had clearly shown the naked pleasure he took in their adoration and mimicked his bombastic movements as he tried to explain a particularly difficult Quidditch move he had apparently performed over the Summer.  He had spoken to Alys once, during her first-year when he’d asked her name.  

He had never noticed her again.

\------

 

_Dench_

 

“And then the blighted broom lurched to the _right_ and Win lost the Snitch to the neighbor’s cat!”  The nearest 7th years: David Intle, Ian Fawcett, Diane Hamling, Sally Macmillan, and Graham Batch laughed at the exaggerated motions of his wiry arms.  He was tall and lean and strong from Quidditch.  And inordinately impressed with his natural hair and his brother, Winston, who was a starter for Puddlemere.

People gravitated to Kit.  They had done so since he was in short-pants and it had gotten worse as he’d grown older.  Sometimes the attention was embarrassing.  It was hard to go incognito when everyone knew who you were.

He noticed Selwyn entering the Great Hall and threw her a lazy wave.  They knew each other through his ex, Shacklebolt, who had also been a Slytherin, but were by no means mates.

“Merlin’s beard, when will someone do something about Davies?” Frances Cocket, one of the Hufflepuff Prefects, asked.  “I’m going to have to confiscate whatever he just passed to that fifth-year.”  The Hufflepuffs turned to look at the Gryffindor table.

“I can’t believe he had that put on his arm.”

“I think it’s brave to do that.”  Sally said, more breathless than she’d probably intended.

“You think it’s hot.”  David noted and they all laughed.  Even Sally.  Because it was true.  “It’s a good thing you passed Charms last year, so you can look at the back of his head.”  

“What?  I have every intention of sitting _next_ to him this year.  You know Flitwick likes to mix it up.”

“Good luck, then,” Kit added.  “I heard he’s been eyeing Avice Finnigan.”  Kit didn’t particularly care for Davies so he’d given Avice the head’s up to beware the Gryffindor.  He still wasn’t sure if he’d helped or hindered Davies’ cause.  

“We’ll see about that.  And on that note,” Sally said, rising, “I have a LOT of homework to finish.  This year is going to kill me.”

“At least it’s our last.”  Ian noted, looking at Kit for validation.

“Yeah,” Kit said, distracted by the third-year Gryffindor, Ancel Hillier, who he had almost killed by charming his underwear into an epic wedgie… that had unfortunately cut off his air supply.  Coach Berenger had, very fortunately, came upon them before Ancel died and Kit had gotten a month’s worth of detention out of it.  But it had sort of turned sideways on him.  The story had spread - the wedgie part, anyway - and Hillier was completely humiliated while Kit had somehow come out a hero.

His dad had been pissed about the missed Quidditch practices.  “I can’t believe you got detention for a harmless prank.  What is Hogwarts coming to?”  For the entirety of his life, Beves Dench had only one objective with Kit: he was going to play Quidditch.  Just like his brother Win.  And then after a glorious career, he would move into the Ministry with his gaffer.  Beves had been signed with the Banchory Bangers but a stray bludger had knocked something loose enough that St Mungo’s hadn’t been able to make it quite right and he’d had to retire his first year on the pitch.  He still had trouble walking without a lean.

For his part, Kit was horrified that he’d done what he’d done.  He had no idea how to make it right.  He couldn’t even apologize because he only caught Ancel from the corner of his eye, scurrying away as quickly as he could.  He thought Kit was a monster and a part of Kit thought the same.  

“You going after Hillier again, Cap’n?”  Davies asked, appearing as if called, leaning over both Kit and Graham Batch, and snatching a piece of toast out of Batch’s hand.

“Go fuck yourself, Davies.”

“Don’t have to,” he said, leaving the Hufflepuff table and the Great Hall.  “Thanks for the toast, Batch.  Marmite next time, eh?”

\------

 

_Davies_

 

With ten galleons jangling in his pocket and the whole evening ahead of him, Rhys was feeling pretty good.  There was a bottle of Ogden’s under his bed - no need to hide it, no one would touch his stuff - and a brick of weed in his pillow case.  He had no intention of doing any homework.  And despite Kit Dench’s best intentions Avice Finnigan (who had filled out a _lot_ during the Summer) was waiting behind Greenhouse Three for him.  

He was tall enough to almost touch the House banners in the foyer.  If he jumped.  And he did so, every time, trying to rip down the Slytherin flag.  Stretching to nearly 7’ with his four foot arm span, his fingertips brushed the silver edge, so close.  His goals for 7th year were to both tear down the flag and graduate.  At least then he’d be 2 up on his old man, who had grown bitter in the mines and left a roadmap of his bitterness on Rhys’ body.  He’d been emancipated at 16 and hadn’t been back to Barry since.  He only talked to his sister, Brandy, who had married young to get away.  She had two children now and the last time he had seen them had been at a Greggs.  Brandy had been sporting a fading bruise on her left cheek.  The boys had been scrubbed clean to within an inch of their lives and wearing hand-me-downs.  The eldest, Nicholas, had been in a shirt Rhys remembered having worn himself.  Brandy had been too proud to bring up the bruise or let Rhys even buy them food.  But he had mended their shoes using his wand under the table when she wasn’t looking.  

And he’d fucked up the tosser who’d hit his sister up royally.  

Because of his brawn, most people underestimated his speed.  He was quick and a dab hand at Charms.  He had broken the man’s nose and two ribs as a reminder not to touch his sister or nephews.  And then healed him and did it again.  Something he had to wait until November 3, 1984 to do.  When the trace was off him.

He had scared the man so badly that he was sending checks to Brandy from an oil rig in the North Atlantic.  Neither of them talked about what they both knew had happened.  The Davies were just like that.

He left Finnigan under no pretenses.  Rhys was completely honest with everyone he slept with upfront: no commitment, no blabbing (at least on his end), and the experience of a lifetime (in his estimation).  He had never reneged on any of his promises.  And never spoke ill of a woman.  He had taught a lot of witches how to accept and give pleasure and for that he was pretty happy with himself.  He had no pretensions about himself, he was a complete blighter, but he did have a moral code, stunted though it was.  He _was_ a Gryffindor.

Being a blighter, he had a post-shag cigarette and then tore down the Slytherin flag for good measure, singing at the top of his lungs:

 

_Tho’ you had all the sun shines on_

_The earth conceals sae lowly_

_I’d turn my back upon them all_

_Tae embrace my collier laddie._

 


	2. Saturday, October 5, 1985

****_ Asterope _

 

“Merlin’s saggy todger,” Asterope said staring up at the canopy of her four-poster.  The charm on the curtains made the bed more secure than Gringotts (something all Slytherins learned first-year) and the silence charm muffled her scream at the unfairness of life.  A 7am wake-up on Saturday was  _ not right _ .  Like catsup on eggs.  Or disco.  Or the thought of Filch naked.  

Despite the reality of spending nine hours in a dungeon with Merlin-knows-who, there were standards to maintain.  After she showered, she selected her second-best uniform and pulled her favorite pair of knitted leg-warmers (they had rainbow colored hearts up the sides) over her socks and saddles.  Her jumper was dark grey and lined in silver and green. She used a drying charm on her waist length hair, leaving it loose and wavy and finished with the only tube of lipstick she’d kept: light pink.  It felt slightly  _ naughty _ to be wearing Muggle lipstick.  The moment the thought hit her, she used a permanence charm to keep it in place.  She had to turn back to the dorm for her forgotten robes.  

Asterope wasn’t the first one in the room.  Something - some _ one _ \- was sitting in the back of the room under the hood of their robe.  In the front of the room was Gaylord Wilkie, the genius Ravenclaw, who was something of a Court joke.  While Asterope had never utilized his services she knew that the Ohs made him do their homework.  They didn’t even pay him.  When she walked in, he gave her a smile that melted when she didn’t return it.   _ Yeah, no. _  She took the rightmost seat near the door and dropped her stuff on the table.  She had had no idea what to bring so had packed homework, make-up, and a book.  She hoped they would dismiss them early.  They couldn’t possibly keep her for eight hours.

A minute to 8, Kit Dench walked into the room.  He smiled when he saw her and she returned it.  “Thank Merlin,” she sighed, giving him the signal that it was alright to sit next to her.  He took the hint and dropped into the second chair with an easy grace.  He hadn’t brought anything with him except for what looked like a bagged lunch.  “Have you done this before?”

“Once.  Back in second-year.  But with Sprout, sorting through seeds.”  Asterope’s smile faded a bit and he quickly added, “But I guess this is the big kid’s version?”  

Coach Berenger came in next.  Asterope’s only dealing with him had been during first-year flying lessons.  He looked the exactly as he had six years ago: sloppy and clearly unhappy to have drawn Detention duty on a Saturday.  He brightened when he saw Kit and offered a quick, “Howya?”  

“I’ve clearly had better Saturdays.”  They shared something between them that Asterope was ignorant of.  Kit looked embarrassed.

Berenger looked around the room - there were only four students present - and looked at his sheet.  “Alright.  Dench, I know you’re here.  Asterope Selwyn,” he barely looked at her. He turned to Wilkie, “I’m guessing you’re Gaylord Wilkie.”  Wilkie blushed, but nodded.  “Okay, that’s everyone.  Except…”   

“Alys Royse.”  Asterope, Kit, and Gaylord Wilkie turned to look at the black lump in the back of the classroom.  It turned out to be a human girl, although under the hood it was hard to tell.  

“Royse?  You’re not on the list.”

“Snape.”  Was all she said.  The younger Potion Master had the first through fifth-years and already had a reputation for his aggressive disciplines.  He was a Slytherin, but Asterope hoped Slughorn never retired as he’d been threatening to do for years.  Berenger seemed to accept it - and honestly, who would  _ volunteer _ to sit for eight hours in a dungeon?

The door opened and Rhys Davies walked into the room.  Asterope felt her mouth fall open.  She had never been in a classroom with Davies as she was a year younger but knew  _ of _ him.  Everyone knew Davies.  He was really big.  And smelled like a giant spliff ashcan.  And  _ Merlin’s saggy todger _ , she was going to have to spend eight hours with him.  She exchanged looks with Kit who gave her a shrug.

“Davies.”  

“The very one.”  Davies should have been too large to saunter but he defied the laws of physics.  His clothes were obviously scrounged from the floor.  Hems frayed and a pair of ancient boots.  Ironically, he had managed a button up under the Gryffindor vest. His robes were wrinkled.  

“I’m sick of spending my Saturdays with you, Davies.”

“Ditto,  _ Willy _ .”  Asterope was fairly shocked that someone would be so shirty with a Professor.  She would never have called Berenger by his first name.  Let alone that particular permutation of it.

“Sit down, Davies.”

Rhys’ dark eyes looking over the room before falling on Asterope.  He walked right up to her and used the first two fingers of his right hand under her chin to close her mouth. Which was still open. “In the flesh, no less.”  She was pretty sure that it was the first time she had ever made eye-contact with him.  It was definitely the first time she had ever been touched by him.  A  _ Muggle-born _ .  An insufferably cocky Muggle-born no less.  His eyes were so dark you couldn’t tell the pupil from the iris.  She could hear Kit rising to the bait and put her left hand on his arm to stop him from doing anything.

“Do not touch me again,” she said in her most patrician tone.  He … quirked a brow.  

“No worries there, love.”  

“S _ it down _ , Davies.”  Rhys saluted Berenger, who was not looking particularly pleased, before taking a seat at the table directly behind Asterope and Kit.  She could still smell him. “Now, I don’t care what you did to get here…”  He paused as Asterope’s hand went up in the air.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you even going to address the fact that  _ he _ ,” everyone knew who she was referring to, “ _ touched me _ ?”

Berenger actually rolled his eyes.  “Davies, don’t touch Selwyn again.”

“What if she touches me first?”  His voice could melt ice.  Internally Asterope was fuming, but kept her Slytherin mask in place.

“I think you’re all old enough to know the rules.  Or some of you anyway.”  He looked at each of them in kind.  Asterope was furious.  Kit miffed that she hadn’t let him intervene. Davies was whistling.  Wilkie was fascinated.  And the black blob in the back of class was still a black blob.  “If I may continue,” Asterope nodded as he was looking right at her. “Your arses are mine for the next eight hours.”  He waved his wand hand and parchment, quills, and inkpots sat on every desk.  “I want a foot on degeneracy in the youth of today by five o’clock.”  

“Sir.  We’re just going to… sit here?”  This from Wilkie.  

“And mull over your various misdeeds.  A foot.  And don’t think you’re getting up for anything.”  He waved his wand and then smiled.  Asterope felt a tingling at the back of her legs and with a thwarted wiggle realized he had stuck them to the chairs.  “I hope you get real comfortable with each other.  You’re not getting off these seats until lunch.”

“What if we have to piss … with our 12 inches?”

“ _ Sir _ , Davies.”

“I’m just a mudblood, Willy.  You don’t have to knight me.”  He threw the word around so carelessly.  Asterope couldn’t even bring herself to say it though her family used it interchangeably with muggle-borns.

“Do you want to be here next month, Davies?”

“Do you want me to?”

“November, Davies.”  

“I knew you had a thing for me.”

“December, Davies.”

“Please  _ sir _ , can I have another?”

“January, Davies.”

She could feel Davies start again behind her and turned abruptly but awkwardly with her bottom half stuck to the chair.  “Just shut up, Davies.”  His mouth snapped shut; caught off-guard by her addressing him.

“On that note,” Berenger said.  “If you need to piss _with or without_ your 12”, as Davies so elegantly phrased it, you’ll have to wait until noon.”    

“You’re just going to leave us here?”  Kit sounded perplexed.  

“I’m not in detention, Dench.  I’ll be in the Staff Room.  But don’t think you can pull any funny business.  I have the door charmed.  You can’t get out of your chairs.  And any continuing misdeeds will affect  _ all of you _ .”  He had not confiscated their wands which surprised Asterope.  He was pretty confident of his ability to handle a room of students.  Kit and Wilkie would never do anything.  Probably not the girl in the back.  But Davies was a wild card.  And she was offended that he underestimated her.  

Asterope raised her hand, simultaneously saying, “I’m not responsible for anything  _ he _ does.”

“I reiterate that any continuing misdeeds will affect  _ all of you _ .  That means even someone like you, Selwyn.”  With a quick salute, Berenger threw over his shoulder, “Until noon, ladies.”  

\-----------

 

_ Wilkie _

 

They sat in silence for about a half-hour before Davies finally did something.  “So what’re you in for,  _ Princess _ ?”  Wilkie watched through his lashes as the Slytherin’s shoulders squared.  She didn’t respond to him.  “Too good to talk to me?”

“Davies,” Dench turned his torso stiffly towards Davies.  “Leave her alone.”  He was shorter than Davies - pretty much everyone at Hogwarts was - but could probably hold his own. Wilkie had never seen him fight and it was rumored that Davies had killed a man.  But he knew the Quidditch Captain was quick with his wand.  Dench gave Davies a pointed look. Wilkie was helpless to turn away.  He had never been so close to either of them in his life and couldn’t imagine how awesome it would be to bring back a story of wizard duelling to the Ravenclaw Common Room.   _ They would all be hanging on his words _ ...

“I didn’t know you were a  _ thing _ .  Cheers.”  

Behind him the hooded girl snorted.  Was she laughing at them?  It was loud enough that everyone heard her and turned towards the back of the room.  Selwyn was pissed.  Dench was flummoxed.  Davies was surprised.  And Wilkie was pretty sure she was laughing at them.  But he couldn’t make out anything under the deep hood over her head.  It was an old-fashioned robe.  Something anyone would have remembered in a crowd.  But he couldn’t place it.  Or her.

“What are you laughing at?”  Dench asked, genuinely wanting an answer.  

Royse laughed again.  But she didn’t say anything.

“You are so  _ weird _ .”  This from Asterope, who turned back to her work.  She was clearly done with the conversation.  Wilkie kept listening.  This was the most interesting thing he’d experienced the whole week.  “You’re probably here for torturing cats or something.”

“Isn’t that  _ your sort  _ of pastime?”  This from Davies.  Selwyn made a show of loudly unrolling her parchment.

“I know why you’re here.”  Royse said abruptly.  “I know why you’re all here.” 

Wilkie felt his stomach drop.  Only a few people know about Jane Harber’s frog.  And there was no way he was alright with her telling everyone.  Especially the likes of Davies, Selwyn, and Dench.  

“Oh?”  Davies took the bait.  Of course he did.  “Why am I here?”

“Besides living here?”  Dench smiled at his riposte.  

“He’s here because he stole the Slytherin banner.”

The look on Davies’ face was priceless.  It was simultaneously proud and chagrined.  He clearly wanted to divulge this information himself.

“YOU DID THAT?!?”  Selwyn tried to stand up, still stuck to the seat, and upended.  Her wand flew against the wall.  The floor sloped and it stayed there.  Arched as she was over the chair, her legs looked impossibly long and completely useless. It was… ridiculously funny.  Wilkie couldn’t stop himself from laughing as she tried to swing her legs to right herself.  

Dench cried “Selwyn!” at the same time that Davies yelled “Holy shite!”  Dench started scrape-walking his chair over to Selwyn and Davies was just looking at them like Christmas had come early.  No one was paying attention to him or the lump in the back of the room.

Selwyn released a string of invectives so dirty that Dench paused sliding towards her.  Pretty much anything Merlin was - or was not - capable of was heaped on Davies.  He had gone from laughing to being suitably impressed.  “I’m not sure Merlin’s  _ pork sword _ is capable of that,  _ Princess _ .”  He was so matter-of-fact that Wilkie gave him a double-take.  “And loathe though I am to remind you,” he wasn’t, “ you fell over on your own steam, love.”

“Are you going to HELP ME UP?!”  Dench continued sliding towards her while Davies snickered.

“No.  I am enjoying the view.”

Behind him, the chair scraped back over the stone floor and Royse stood up to walk towards the front of the room.  “How did you get up?”  Wilkie asked.  He was surprised that he wasn’t the first one to work it out.  He hadn’t even considered getting off the chair.  He was too worried about getting caught.

Royse walked up to Selwyn leaned down with her hands on the back of the chair and righted the larger girl.  Royse was short, probably no more than five-feet-something, and the hood never moved.  Wilkie still had no idea who she was.  Was she a Ravenclaw?  Did he know a Royse?

“Are you going to unstick me?”  Selwyn’s voice was acid.  She had clearly never learned the correlation between flies and honey.  Or had never been treated in this way.  Wilkie bet people jumped to do her bidding.  Selwyn kept giving dark looks to both Davies and the hooded girl as if unsure of who was more deserving.  She wasn’t even looking at Dench.

“Why?”  Royse’s inflection was complete bafflement.  

Asterope was so shocked she didn’t say anything in response.  Davies was laughing again, clearly enjoying himself.  “This is the best detention ever,” he said, clarifying.  “What do you think, Wilkie?”

For a moment, Wilkie had no idea what to do.  It was like the Eye of Sauron had descended upon him as they all looked at him. “Um…” he managed.  “I guess so.”

“You guess so?  When is the last time you got to see Asterope Selwyn’s drawers, Wilkie?”  Wilkie was pretty sure Selwyn was going to hex Davies, but she had just noticed she didn’t have her wand.  Davies’ voice dripped with something akin to pity.

He had no idea what made him do it, hot flush on him.  But with bravado he didn’t realize he had, Wilkie found himself saying, “I’ve seen them before.”

“What was that?  You’ve seen them… before?  Do tell.”

Wilkie had, in fact, seen what could have been Selwyn’s drawers.  Amongst other female pants.  During his first year, they had made the rounds in the Ravenclaw boy’s dorm having been filched by someone (no one quite knew who) who’d found the laundry room.  The provenance of the pants had been endlessly discussed.  Finally Evelyn Caverill through undisputed logic, and her power as Prefect, had confiscated the drawers in question after pronouncing them all “perverts.”  She had taken 500 points from Ravenclaw and  _ everyone _ got detention.  Everyone knew what had happened.  500 points lost in one day was hard to miss.  And every time a Ravenclaw male went anywhere they would have women’s pants thrown at them.  Someone had created a pants summoning charm coupled with a sticking charm.  It was a horrible year.

Wilkie had never considered the consequences of saying he had seen them.  To Davies.  In front of Selwyn and the Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team.  And some girl in a hood.  “I -- uh…”

“Yes, please tell us.”  This was from Selwyn herself.  If she’d had her wand, Wilkie was sure she would have used an Unforgivable on him.  

Dench, looking between them all, was not sure what to do or what was going on.

“Well… there was this one time…”

And Royse laughed.  It broke the tension in the room.  She had a very nice laugh.  It made Wilkie think she wasn’t laughing  _ at  _ him, but rather at the situation itself.  “You are such a wanker, Gaylord.”  The only one who called him by his first name was his mother.   _ Who  _ was _ she? _  “Did you think anyone actually  _ found _ the laundry room?”

And then she walked to the back of the room and sat down.

\------------

 

_ Kit _

 

Kit Dench had absolutely no idea what was going on.  

They had been sitting in complete silence for an hour after the girl in the back had sat back down.  He knew enough not to talk to Selwyn. She was calm but in a revenge-served-cold way.  Wilkie was writing on his parchment.  Davies had his feet up on the desk with the back of his chair wedged on the lip of the desk behind him so he didn’t fall over.  He was writing out rude words with his wand.  

The girl in the back had disappeared under the voluminous depths of her hood once again.  Voluntarily sitting when she could clearly get up.  She was so  _ weird _ .

Feeling peckish, Kit dug out three bananas from his sack and started to work his way through them.  He was always hungry.  And fidgety.  It was hard to sit still when he wanted to be out and about.  It was really nice outside and everyone would be out on the lawn taking in the last of the good weather before Winter.  And he was stuck in the dungeons.  He wouldn’t give Davies much of anything, but it was a very amusing detention so far.  He smiled remembering the look on Selwyn’s face when she fell over.  And the balls on Wilkie. He took the snitch he’d filched from his pocket and started releasing and catching it.  It was a nervous habit that he had that most people were impressed with.  

He knew he was showing off and exactly when Wilkie started watching.  The word  _ tosser _ floated over his shoulder.  Selwyn was trying to reach her wand with her foot.  Not quite close enough to get it.  

Andrew Fraser, the Hufflepuff Chaser, had invited him to a party later that evening.  He had been surprised as the party was being hosted by one of the Greengrasses,  Ophiuchus or Orpheus, he couldn’t tell them apart.  He knew that Fraser hung with a lot of Gryffindors as he was maybe seeing a fifth-year (Fraser was the cagiest boy he had ever met about girls) but didn’t know he socialized with the Slytherin Keeper or Prefect.  Kit had sort of been checking out Daphne Ewyns anyway, ever since Fraser had told him that she had a thing for him.  She was a blond cut along the lines of Selwyn.  But nicer, more approachable.  Less haughty.  Not the brightest bulb in the box but neither was he.  He wondered how the girl in the back had unstuck herself.  

“Alright ladies,” Berenger greeted them, returning to the dungeon about four hours after he’d left.  He was looking more wakeful and annoyingly cheerful.  “Bathroom break and lunch.”  He unstuck them and gave them about five minutes to do their business.  “Dench, go down to the kitchens and bring up some lunch.”  The Hufflepuff common room was right next to the kitchens.

“I won’t be able to carry it all up by myself.”

“Alright.”  Berenger looked over at the rest of the group.  “You,”  he pointed at the hooded girl who didn’t notice because her head was still down.  “Girl with the hood.”  She answered to that, looking up and pointing to her chest.  “Yeah, you.  Go with Dench to the kitchens to bring up lunch.  And be sharpish about it.”

When she stood up to join him, her hood fell back to reveal a straight brown fringe that hid her face.  He didn’t remember having ever seen her before.  “Shall we?”  Kit said cheerfully.  She didn’t say anything back. Just walked out the door.

It made Kit uncomfortable not to talk when he was around people.  “I’m Kit Dench,” he introduced himself.

“I know who you are.”

“You do?”

“Everyone knows who you are.”  She said it like it was nothing.  Like everyone knew the sky was blue and that the grass was green.  It just was.

“And you’re….?”  He prompted her, not remembering her name from the roll.

“Does it matter?”

Kit didn’t know how to respond to that.  It didn’t sound uncivil, per se.  Very matter of fact.  “Why would you think it doesn’t matter?”

“Because you’re just talking to me because you don’t like silence.”  

“That’s not true.”  His back was up a bit and it showed in his voice.  It was true.

She actually turned to look at him.  Her eyes were whiskey colored and amused.  He had the distinct impression that she was taking the piss.  He wasn’t used to being messed with by anyone but his mates.  She didn’t even know him.

They made it to the kitchens without saying anything else to each other.  She seemed to be fine with the status quo.  Kit finally stumbled on something as she reached over to tickle the pear.  “What House are you in?”  He would have given his last sickle that she was a Slytherin.

When the door swung open Bippy the Hufflepuff house elf greeted them.  “Mistress Royse!  I made your favorite!”  

Royse gave him an unreadable look, her mouth turned up to something that would generously be described as a smirk.  He would have lost his sickle.  

\---------

 

_ Davies _

 

“This is ridiculous,” Rhys said a moment after his head had fallen from his hand and knocked against the desk.  “Royse let me up from this chair.” 

Selwyn and Dench turned.  Wilkie glanced sideways as Davies looked at Royse.  “Ok,” she said simply and pointed her wand at Rhys’s arse.  With a pop he was free.  

“Cheers, love.”  He stood up, towering over everyone, and rubbed the tingles out of his backside.

The Purebloods were furious.  “Why are you helping him?  He’s just going to cause trouble.”  Selwyn was trying really hard but couldn’t quite hide the edge of anger in her voice.  He smiled a wicked smile that said:  _ I win _ .  Her green eyes sparked and he knew she would rise to his challenge.  If he wanted to play.  Which he was still considering.

Royse shrugged, her hood still down, her wand tucked somewhere on her person.   

“I’ll write your essay if you free me,” Wilkie offered her. 

“You don’t have to do that to make me like you.”  Wilkie gave her a considering look.

“I’ll sit next to you at dinner then.”  The smile that crossed Royse’s face was real.  It transformed her into something rather more than pretty.  Though not in Rhys’ wheelhouse. Dench was frowning at them.

“Ok.”  And Wilkie was free.

“Alright then.  I’m going to go stretch my legs.  I’ll be back in…”  Rhys cast tempus.  “Less than three hours.”

“You can’t leave this room!  I am NOT getting another detention because of you!”  

“You’re stuck to the chair.  How’rya gonna stop me?”  

“She’s right.  If you leave and Berenger comes back we’re all in trouble.  Four weekends of detention is the limit for me.  I’m not taking any more for you.”

“ _ I’ll.  Be.  Right.  Back. _ ”  Rhys said through clenched teeth.  “I know my onions.”  

“As Head Boy, I demand you let me up!”  Kit said to Royse who immediately did so.  He actually looked surprised that it worked.  In the interest of parity, Royse released Selwyn too. “Wow, that was easier than I thought.”  Kit stepped up to Davies as some sort of a roadblock.  

“Do you actually think you’re going to stop me?”  Rhys was back to being amused.  

Kit squared his shoulders.  “Like I said, we’re not taking more detentions for you.”

“Oh move,” Selwyn said, pushing past Dench and pointing her wand at Davies.  The room got quiet as they were certain she was going to hex him.  He felt a sharp sting in his left wrist and a silvery lasso circled him and then disappeared.  Selwyn looked triumphant.  Everyone else looked confused.  

“Weak hex, Selwyn.”  Rhys said looking over himself and finding himself completely normal.

“Why didn’t you just do a full-body bind?”  Dench asked, exasperated.

“Was that a  _ Propinqua _ ?”  Wilkie sounded impressed.  “That’s rather difficult magic.”

“What the fuck is a  _ Propinqua _ ?” Davies asked, one eye on his wrist.

“This,” Selwyn took three large steps backwards.  And Rhys actually slid across the floor towards her.  Whatever she had done did not come with breaks, however, and Rhys ended up boxing her against the chalkboard.  

“What did you do to me?”  Rhys asked.  He was almost a foot taller than she was looking down at her green eyes.  She wasn’t even remotely as scared as he thought she should have been.  No one told Rhys Davies what to do.

“You won’t be able to go outside a meter’s range of her.  It’s quite an advanced spell.”  Wilkie noted.  “Sort of like a magical leash.”  Rhys  _ did not _ like the idea of a leash.

“Now you can’t leave.  Unless I let you leave.”  Her smile was wicked, dripping with triumph.  Unlike Royse’s, it made her look less pretty and more… Slytherin.

“One meter, eh?”  And he wrapped one long, muscular arm around her waist and hauled her over his shoulder.  Selwyn chirped - a sound no one had ever heard - and then jammed her wand into his arse.  Thankfully she missed sodomizing him by about 20mm.  “ _ Merlin’s beard _ , someone take this wand away from her.”

“One of the many issues with Propinqua is that it’s Will-based.  Stronger will leads,” Wilkie continued to narrate.

“Should have body-binded,” Royse said dryly.  She was obviously less impressed than Wilkie.

“Put her down!”  Without a clear thought for consequences Dench rammed his shoulder into Davies’ solar plexus - narrowly missing a shouting Selwyn - but dropping him to the ground.  Selwyn fell off Davies’ shoulder hard as he tried to defend himself, only missing the floor by the barest of distances as Wilkie’s  _ Arresto Momentum _ cushioned her.  Rhys and Dench grappled on the floor while Selwyn continued to jerk towards Rhys every time he went beyond a meter of her.  She needed her feet on the ground to control him.

“You need to break the spell,” Wilkie said to Selwyn who was starting to turn green from the micro-jerks. 

“I can’t.”  She sounded miserable.

“Why not?”

Selwyn jerked again.  This time she was on the verge of tears.  “I think my wand is broken.”  Both Wilkie and Royse looked down at the splintered mess of her Cherry wood wand.

On the ground, Kit managed to hit Davies with an elbow.  Legs and arms, fists and feet were everywhere.  And then they flew apart.

“Stop.”  This from Royse, who had separated them with a casual flick of her wand, thoughtfully depositing Rhys near enough to Selwyn that she didn’t get jerked across the room. “It’s obvious that we don’t like each other.  Davies smells,” the boy in question rose his arm to smell his pits,  “Selwyn does not need a protector.  And this spell was stupid.” Straightening the sleeves of her robe, she added, “And I think we could all do with releasing some steam”  Four sets of eyes: black, green, blue, and brown rested on her.  “I mean, we all have at least one thing in common.”

“What?”

“We are all in detention.  So let’s go.”

\-----------

 

_ Alys _

 

Somehow, they made it up to Gryffindor Tower without being caught.  Berenger had warded the door with  _ Colloportus _ but even Kit was able to break it.  Alys was friendly with a portrait of Herpo the Foul who agreed to follow Berenger’s movements.  Davies knew all the back ways and they only come across a couple of first-years who had run when Wilkie, in an unexpected turn, had thrown his voice to sound like Peeves.  It had been hard to keep Selwyn and Davies close enough not to continue their tug of war so the Slytherin had deigned to let Davies carry her piggyback.

And so that was how they appeared at the portrait of a beautiful, full-figured woman.  One Gryffindor carrying a cross Slytherin, one winded Ravenclaw, a Hufflepuff Beater with a black eye, and Alys Royse who had never been to Gryffindor Tower before.  “Hello,” Alys greeted the portrait now who was staring at them as if she had never before seen the like. And she had seen the Marauders.  “You’re beautiful.” 

The painting in question, dressed à la grecque with a crown of laurel around her dark hair, fluttered her eyes at Alys.  “Why, aren’t you the sweetest thing.”  Her eyes then fell on Davies, nonplussed by the witch over his shoulder.  “Aren’t you in detention, Davies?”

“ _Non ducor, duco_ ,” Davies offered the password and the portrait swung open.  Selwyn rolled her eyes. 

As agreed, Wilkie poked his head in first and stunned the two second-years on the couch before they could turn around.  Otherwise, it was empty. 

“Ok.  Stay here while I run upstairs.”

“I am  _ not _ going into your dormitory, Davies.”  

“I don’t want you there either.  But we don’t have a choice.  Just keep your head down.”  And he took the stairs two at a time.

“Well.”  Dench dropped into one of the chairs flanking the fireplace.  He stood up again quickly, picking something off the seat cushion.  A dung bomb, which he carefully placed on the floor.  Thankfully undamaged.   

The Gryffindor Common Room was very red.  Alys walked around looking at everything: the tapestries, the piles of abandoned things that covered every surface.  It was a lot to take in.

“Just be careful what you touch,” Dench warned her.  “Anything could blow up.” 

“Ok.”  Although Alys thought it might be awesome if something  _ did _ blow up.  She was having the best day ever.

“I can’t believe we came up here.”

“But it’s… kind of exciting, right?”  Wilkie said, sure but not sure about whether Dench or Royse would agree.  “I mean.  I’ve never escaped detention with Davies.  Who may or may not have killed a man.  Or hung out with you guys before.”

“I don’t think Davies has killed anyone.”

Dench actually smiled from the chair.  “That rumor has been floating around since third-year.  I highly doubt that the Headmaster would let him continue at Hogwarts if it were true.”

“But hypothetically speaking, if he--”  They all turned as they heard the portrait start to open.

There was no way they could stun  _ all _ the Gryffindors.  “Hide,” Dench said as quietly as possible.  He and Royse ended up behind the nearest tapestry and Wilkie crawled under the couch, enervating the two second-years when he was safe.  

“Wow, I must have been more tired than I’d thought,” the taller of the girls said, sitting up from her undignified sprawl on the couch.  Alys could hear the creak of the couch and hoped that Wilkie wasn’t going to be trapped under there.  While the girls continued conversing on shoes and the upcoming Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw scrimmage, Dench pulled Alys further back against the wall and cast _muffliato_.  

“It’s interesting.”  

“What’s interesting?”  He asked.

“Gryffindors in their native habitat.”  He gave her a strange look for a while before starting to laugh.  She squinted as she looked through a thready hole in the tapestry.

“Really?  You finally start a conversation with me and that’s what you want to talk about?” 

“Well, you wanted to talk about how you didn’t know me and didn’t remember that I was in your House.”  He blushed.  “I’m a fifth-year, just so you know.  And my name is Alys Royse.”

“Hello, Alys Royse,” he extended his hand and she looked at it.  “You’re, er, supposed to shake it.”  She took it and pumped it with more force than he’d been intending judging by his face.  “I’m Kit Dench.”

“I know.”

“You’re supposed to say ‘pleased to meet you.’” 

“Even if I’m not?” 

“Why wouldn’t you be pleased to meet me?”  Dench scowled still holding her hand.  She didn’t pull it back, assuming he knew what he was doing.

“Well, what if you have Dragon Pox?  I wouldn’t be happy to see you then.”

“I don’t have Dragon Pox.”

“How do I know that?  You just met me for the second time today.  You could be contagious.”

“I  _ don’t _ have Dragon Pox!”

“Alright then.  I’m pleased to meet you, but only if you don’t have Dragon Pox.”  She thought for a moment, “Or Spattergoit.”

Despite himself, Dench started laughing.  His laughter was actually pretty nice as she could tell it wasn’t aimed at her  _ exactly _ .  So Alys started laughing, too.  They were laughing together.  

“You are so  _ weird _ .”

\---------

 

_ Asterope _

 

Asterope tried not to touch anything in the 7th Year Gryffindor boy’s dorm while she waited for Davies to collect whatever he needed from his pillowcase.  She had never been in a more filthy place in her life.  She had no idea how humans could live like that.  “Couldn’t we have stretched our legs outside?” 

They both looked up at the sound of feet on the stairwell.  “They’re coming up here,”  Davies said, not particularly alarmed.  But he wasn’t a pureblood Slytherin who could  _ never  _ be seen with Rhys Davies.  Let alone in his  _ bedroom _ .  

“No!”  She pushed him backward knocking him off balance and flat on his back on his bed.  His legs were still off the mattress.  “Give me your wand.”

“Over my dead body.” 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” she threw herself on him reaching for his wand.  She had her forearm under his chin and his left leg wrapped around her right leg, dragging her bodily over him until she was pinned between Davies and the wall.  Convinced she was neutralized, he relaxed his grip on her.  Asterope twisted just enough to push her knee into his groin. “Wand or bollocks, Davies.”  He did not hesitate to hand her his wand.  Applewood, 11”, it made her hand tingle, although not in a particularly bad way.  She rolled over for better leverage, ending up straddling his hips while performing a complicated symphony of spells.  Just as the door to the dorm opened, Asterope lowered the wand.

She was now locked behind the curtains of his four-poster, inaudible, and rather surly.  With Rhys Davies’ hands on her hips.  That that was the last thing she’d noticed was rather disturbing, actually.

“I know you’re a filthy pureblood, but you’re kind of sexy when you’re angry.”

She did not feel bad when she stunned him.

Waiting for him to wake-up, however, was another thing altogether.  The applewood wand was as anti-Slytherin as a Muggle-born Gryffindor’s wand could be.  Which was quite a lot.  It didn’t trust her a whit.  It wouldn’t let her dissolve the  _ Propinqua _ .  It didn’t seem willing to ennervate its owner on her schedule.  It did, however, allow her to  _ Terceo _ Davies - and his bed - removing the horrible odor of pot and sweat.  Leaving him pleasantly smelling of mint.  Did they not have a elf in Gryffindor Tower for these things?  

She pocketed some of his weed.  She rifled through his robe, not finding anything of particular value.  A pack of cigarettes, a butterbeer cap, and two galleons.  Looking down on Davies’ unconscious form, she smiled and pulled the tube of lipstick out of her pocket.  Uncapping it, she twisted the bottom and then started to put it on Davies’ lips.  He was less dangerous looking while unconscious (especially with the application of pink lipstick).  More peaceful and kind of … fit.  When he didn’t smell like an ashcan and his hair was off his face.  She was alarmed by the direction of her thoughts.  But then no one knew she was having them.  She would never act on anything.  How would she ever explain it to her friends?  Let alone her family.  She swiped the lipstick over his lower lip very slowly and watched the lip snapback.  He had nicer lips than she did.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”  Asterope would have fallen over if Davies hadn’t caught her hip.

“How long have you been awake?”  She looked down at the applewood wand in betrayal, quickly recapping the lipstick and pocketing it.

“Long enough to know you’re a pickpocket.”  His dark eyes were laughing when she scowled down at him.  “I knew you Slytherins were not to be trusted.”  

She put her hand on his and pushed it down.  “I could say the same about Gryffindors.”  

“Do you even know any Gryffindors?”  He put his hand back.

“One.”  She pushed it down again.  “And I don’t trust him at all.”

“I bet you could get to know this paragon better.  If you wanted to.”  

“What I want to do is to go back to the dungeons and finish detention without further incident.”  This time he scowled as her green eyes blazed down at him.   

“I don’t think that’s going to happen for a while, yet.”  He sat up, dumping her off him.

“ _ Why’re Davies’ curtains closed?” _  The voice was female.  “ _ Are you  _ sure _ he’s not here?” _

“ _ He’s in detention.  Just relax. _ ”  

“What are they  _ doing _ ?”  Asterope asked Davies.  She was quite shocked.

Davies gave her a queer look and shrugged.  “What do you  _ think _ they’re doing?”

What followed were long, long minutes of one of Davies’ roommates shagging.  With a coolness that belied her internal shock, Asterope pretended to buff her nails while Davies pulled rolling papers out of thin air.  “Fancy a smoke,  _ Princess _ ?  I think we’re going to be here for a while yet.”

Asterope did not say no.  Nor did she tell him about the lipstick.

\----------

 

_ Wilkie _

 

Wilkie was under the couch for a while before he realized two things.  Firstly, they were never going to get out of the Gryffindor Common Room without tactical intervention.  And secondly, he was definitely not getting out of here alive if Alison Frank kicked him again.  

There wasn’t much of use under the couch.  A box of half-eaten chocolate, not too stale though, a few broken quills, dust, and a pair of bright yellow pants.  He spent more time than he would admit wondering how they got under the couch.  He could see Royse and Dench’s shoes under the tapestry and was yet again surprised by how lax the Gryffindors appeared to be regarding House security.  Anyone could come in and ransack the place.  Although, the lack of unbroken items would probably deter most.

His eyes fell on a single dung bomb on the floor between the couch and an armchair.  It was close enough to reach… but only if he reached for it.  There were two Gryffindors on the couch, someone in the armchair, and four others around a table across from the couch.  Seven.  And more upstairs.  The likelihood of being seen was fairly high.  But considering the notorious lack of observational skills native to the House, the angle of the light, and the the game of exploding snap in the background, there was a chance.

Sweating, he slowly inched his hand out from under the couch, deciding on stealth rather than speed.  He had the bomb in hand when someone said, “Did you see that?”  

“What?”

“I thought I just saw something under the couch.” 

“It’s probably Chan’s rat.”

“Rat??”  And Alison Frank kicked him so hard that Wilkie gave an audible  _ oof _ .  

“There’s someone under the couch!”  Holding his breath, Wilkie released the pin from the dung bomb and rolled it into the middle of the room.  It must have been old as it went off spectacularly.

“We’re under attack!”  Someone yelled and then there was general chaos.  A very loud alarm went off and people were running everywhere.  Wilkie cast darkness, not even bothering to hide himself anymore, and then crawled out from under the couch as soon as the he saw a clear path to the portrait door.  One of the first-year Gryffindors saw him and Wilkie smiled and waved as he awkwardly pulled himself to standing and then ran out the door.

Dench and Royse popped into visibility ahead of him and he ran after them, not sure where they were going.  Kit was flushed and excited.  Royse was more intent and grabbed Dench’s robe to direct him down a different hallway.  Wilkie followed them.  “Why didn’t you just  _ accio _ the bomb, plonker?”  Dench had his breath, completely unlike Wilkie.  He sounded amused.

“I didn’t…”

“He’s heading down to the dungeons, love.  Best run for it,” a portrait of Ignatia Wildsmith alerted them.  Royse blew her a kiss in return.

“Merlin’s beard that was stupid.”  They started descending stairs, lots of stairs, as they made for the dungeons.  “Stupid, but brilliant.  I think the Gryffindors are going to be pissed. Good on you.”

They made it to the dungeon, quickly taking their seats and trying to regain some semblance of students who had been sitting in detention for seven and a half hours.  “Where’re Davies and Selwyn?”  They looked over at the empty chairs.

Minutes trickled by very slowly.  Berenger was going to be back any moment.  There was no sign of them.  Royse was at the door peering down the hallway every so often.  Finally, she said, “He’s coming.”  She popped into her seat while Dench  _ Colloportus _ ’d the door.  Wilkie felt like he was going to pass out.

Davies came in from a storeroom in the back of the classroom carrying Selwyn in his arms and dropped her unceremoniously into her chair.  “Ouch, arsehole.”  He quirked a brow.

“Where did you come from?”  Dench sounded like he was mentally slapping his forehead.

“You couldn’t mention  _ the passageway in the storeroom _ ??”

“Why did it take you so long?”

“She weighs a tonne.”

Selwyn smacked him.  It was such a Muggle thing to do that Davies was stunned and Dench had to stifle a laugh.  

“ _Sit down_.  Berenger.”  Wilkie hissed from across the room.  And the man himself unlocked the door and entered.  

He looked at their flushed faces suspiciously.  But as he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what was going on he could exactly pin them for anything.  Wilkie had always had his suspicions that Berenger was just one step up from a Squib.  And hated that his entire Hogwarts’ career rested on his shoulders.  

Selwyn was sitting as far back as she dared and Davies as far forward as he could.  “Well, ladies.  It appears you have successfully completed the first quarter of your sentences.”  He vanished the parchment and then performed the charm to unstick them.

Selwyn got up rather abruptly trying to leave the room.  The tide of wills had changed and Davies’ chair started to follow her… with Davies in it.  He stumbled off of it and followed her.  

Wilkie wondered why Davies was wearing lipstick.

Royse walked out without any farewells.  Dench gave a careless wave as he exited.  Eventually Wilkie was the last one in the room.  Looking forward to dinner actually.  

\----------

 

_ Davies _

 

“Can’t you just  _ undo  _ the charm,  _ Princess _ ?”  Rhys asked when Selwyn continued to drag walk him along the hallways.  He was mostly talking to her back.  “Do you even  _ know _ the counter charm?”

“ _ Of course I do _ ,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Then DO IT.  Being seen with you is not something I want to happen, right?”  Rhys’ narrowed his eyes.  “Unless you  _ want _ to be seen with me…”

“You are the  _ last person _ I would ever want to be seen with.”  He was surprised that it actually hurt.  Just a little.  While he wasn’t particularly pleased about the whole leash aspect and thought she was a total knob, he’d thought their rather silent shared joint (or two) had not been  _ un _ pleasant.  He wasn’t the worst person in the world.  “I can’t undo the  _ Propinqua _ ,” Selwyn finally said.  Rather quietly and sounding slightly defeated.  “You broke my wand.”

Rhys felt like shite, thought about covering it with his usual attitude, but just said, “Sorry.”

They didn’t speak again until Selwyn located Flitwick and convinced him to break the spell.  After a strange look at Rhys, he did so in seconds and then lectured them on using magic outside of the classroom.  Thankfully he didn’t take any points.  Rhys had already lost a fair bit after being caught selling to a Hufflepuff.

“Well, that’s it I guess?”  Rhys had no idea why he didn’t just leave instead of standing around like a knob.

“Are you waiting for me to say I’ll miss you?”  Selwyn had not moved to leave.

“Look, I’m sorry about your wand.  I’ll buy you a new one.”  Her eyebrows shot up into her blond fringe.

“That won’t be necessary.”  He was ready to argue the point and she put her hand up to stop him.  “No  _ really _ .”  And this time she did leave him in the hallway.

It was an hour before he was stopped by his mate Addy Dickon saying “That lipstick doesn’t match your robes at all, Davies.”  He had to have Trev’s girlfriend, Eilish, charm it off when all normal means of removal had been exhausted.  It was terrifying to have her wand so close to his mouth.

“If this gets out I’ll tell everyone that you and Trev were shagging this afternoon.”

“I KNEW he was in the dorm you wanker!”

It wasn’t until the next day that he realized his wand was missing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wednesday, October 9, 1985**

 

_Alys_

 

For a long time, the Hufflepuffs were convinced the House was haunted.

Things would go missing then show up in a place where they absolutely could not have gone.  Sometimes things would appear, provenance unknown.  

For instance Eloise Hamling’s quill.  

It showed up in the hand of a second-year Gryffindor who told Eloise (and her friends) that he had come into Charms and found it wrapped with his name on it.  Even providing the name tag.  In Eloise’s handwriting.  As there was no way he could have stolen it from her trunk and didn’t even know where the Hufflepuff dorms were, she decided to let him keep it.  He really had needed a quill and Eloise would have shared had she been aware of his need.  And he was cute.

Two days later the two were dating.

And then there was Stewie Ilfan’s tie.  

It had gone missing at the end of Stewie’s fourth year on or about May 1, 1985.  Everyone, including Stewie, assumed that it would show up.  Sprout was as generous as she could be.  He had two days to find it or it was detention for him.   _I’m sorry, Ilfan, but my hands are tied on this matter._ And It did show up… but not until he woke up on the morning of May 3, 1985 and it was on his nightstand curled around his lamp.  Well, it wasn’t exactly _his_ tie.  Stewie’s father, a tailor, had neatly sewn the initials SMI in the fold of _his_ tie.  This one was gold and black.  But it was a little fuller at the point.  And had no initials.

When a first-year Slytherin, Janet Salteel, had lost a particularly humiliating bet for a galleon (her family was quite poor), she had found a small pouch of knuts on her chair in History of Magic.  There were a _lot_ of knuts in a galleon.  But no one had recalled anyone clanging down the halls of Hogwarts.  It had secured a small cache of infamy for Janet.  Paying with 493 knuts was taken as cheek.

And Slytherins liked a little clever payback.

In the small hours of Tuesday, October 5, the Hufflepuff ghost was at it again.

In a small black notebook, between sketches of Kneazles and snitches, lay a notation taken on the morning of Monday, October 4, 8:31am.  “Dench to Batch: ‘I really need another bottle of Fleetwood’s.  I can’t write to my Father so early in Term.”  The words were spilling out of a looping drawing of a Fleetwood’s bottle endlessly upending.  

It had taken her a while to figure this one out.  For one thing, she had no idea what Fleetwood’s was.  She had started with a probable hair pomade - I mean, it was for Dench who was slightly vain about his hair - but had soon discovered that it was for broom polishing.  For three days, Alys had dug through the Junk Room on the Seventh Floor across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.  Barnabas was indeed barmy, but Alys found him delightful.  Particularly after a fourteen minute lute solo that ended with an interpretive dance showing her how to use the room.  All in exchange for teaching him the chicken dance.  

Finally, she discovered a worn closet that turned out to have a couple of contraband brooms. Most were broken but there was a working Arrow.  And a carton of smaller things to do with Quidditch.  In there, she found an almost new bottle of Fleetwoods.  It was hard to tell how long things had been in the Junk Room, but it looked no more than five years old.  The liquid still sloshed when she shook it anyway.  

Getting it up to the 7th year boy’s dorm had been pretty easy.  She had been sneaking around for years.  And it gave her a chance to look for a chocolate frog for Jane Harber who had been feeling particularly sad since her toad had died.  While she didn’t find a chocolate frog (though the 7th year boys had a _ton_ of other sweets piled up on a small communal table) she did find that Ian Fawcett had managed to drop a shoe on Intle’s glasses.  She did a silent _reparo_ on her way out.

The next morning the talk in the Common Room was that the Hufflepuff ghost had struck again.  Deep in the corner, head deep in the most recent edition of the Quibbler (which she read for the horoscopes) Alys was only half-aware of the chatter around her.  She had been avoiding meals since Saturday as she was not certain she actually wanted Gaylord Wilkie to sit next to her.  Sitting next to someone meant you had to _talk_ to them.  And she didn’t quite know what to _say_ to him.  But in fairness, she didn’t know what to say to anyone.  

“I heard from Linda that Ned saw it.”  

“The ghost?”

“Of course, you nitwit.  He said it had ten-foot claws---”  They stopped talking as Dench came down the tunnel to the boy’s dorms.  He had that effect on people and Alys couldn’t quite figure out why.  

He was _just_ a boy.

 

\------

 

_Dench_

 

“Prefect’s meeting tonight,” Kit yelled across the Common Room.  All of the Hufflepuff prefects, save Alvar Nompion (6th year) were in attendance and gave their various acknowledgments.

Using the reflection of Helga Hufflepuff’s portrait, Kit straightened his tie.  “You look lovely, dear,” she said, smiling affectionately down at him.  “Are we going to win the House Cup this year?”

She asked him the question fairly regularly and despite the fact that he was going to miss the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw scrimmage due to his next detention he gave her the standard answer, “We’ll do our best, ma’am.”

“That’s all I ask, dear.”

Turning around in the Common Room, he took the measure of the room.  There were Hufflepuffs in every state of dress and condition, coming and going as their schedules dictated.  There was another half hour before breakfast was over and Kit liked to hit it just before he headed to Double Herbology.  For reasons not yet clear to him he found himself looking into one of the burrow holes in the corner.  In the clever hiding place, bare legs pulled up on the chair and hidden behind a Quibbler was what he now recognized as Royse.  Without the old-fashioned robe, she was a quarter of his perceived version of her, all skinny legs and prim anklets.  If he hadn’t been specifically looking for her, he never would have seen her.  The corner of the Quibbler pulled down just enough to emit one gimlet eye.  The paper snapped up as if she was unimpressed with what she saw.  He actually laughed and then decided to go and say hello to her.

He took one step before Batch and Fawcett caught up with him.  “Breakfast, Dench?”  

“Yeah, I was just headed up.  Give me a second?”  Kit turned back towards Royse.  And she was gone.  He was astounded by the speed by which she had extricated herself from meeting him.  He looked over the back of the chair but she wasn’t hiding there.  He picked up the abandoned Quibbler, still warm from where she had been touching it, and put it under his arm.  

“What’re you looking for, mate?”  Fawcett had come up behind him, and smirked at the Quibbler.  “Single life is making you barmy, Dench.  Never took you for a Quibbler man.”

Kit pursed his lips.  “I’m trying some new things in my old age, my good man.  Maybe pancakes today?”

She wasn’t at breakfast.  

Daphne Ewyns was there, though.  Though a Gryffindor, she was sitting next to Fraser, who had obviously spent a great deal of time on his hair and was wearing his glasses for the first time in a while.  “Walked into a door,” he explained through a mouthful of sausage when Kit looked at him.  He did have a bruise forming on the right side of his jaw almost by his neck.

Dench made the boys budge over so he could sit next to Ewyns, whose school kilt had been rolled up at the waist to show off her legs.  “I was starting to get worried,” she said, smiling, but not really sounding worried.  She seemed to always know where he was.  This was behavior he was used to from girls.  

“Wouldn’t miss breakfast would I?”  He put the newspaper between his plate and cup and then started heaping sausages and eggs on his plate.  He didn’t notice when Daphne picked it up.

“CHUDLEY CANNONS LOSING STREAK DUE TO LOSER’S LURGY!”  She read aloud, rather loudly in deference to the all-caps.  The rest of the table started laughing, so Kit didn’t snatch it back right away.  “Team owner Seamus Scurrock reveals all on page 8.  Do you want to hear more?”  She flipped to page 8 and beneath wanted ads (interesting in themselves) and colorful adverts for flying boots, was the remainder of the article.  “According to our esteemed writer--”

“Sorry to break-up this lovely scene, but I noticed that a select group of Hufflepuffs,” the Slytherin looked at the non-select who slid over as if repelled, “were not in attendance at my soiree last Saturday.”  Orpheus Greengrass - it was definitely Orpheus - was looking particularly hard at Fraser.  Who was  blushing.  This was not particularly unusual as Fraser splotched up on the slightest of provocations.  Orpheus turned his steely eyes on Kit then, who thought it was probably better to put down the fork before responding.

“Sorry, O,” the safest way of addressing either of them, “but things came up.”

“What happened to your cheek, Fraser?”  Orpheus’ voice hovered somewhere between curiosity and disdain.  The Greengrasses were extremely pure-blooded: not a drop of Muggle in the blood line, terrifyingly handsome, and the definers of haughteur.  It was unlikely that anyone who was lucky enough to be invited to one had ever had the temerity to skip it.  Let alone two Hufflepuffs.  And Fraser’s father was a Muggle.  

“Er, I... walked into a door?”

“You should take more care,” Orpheus sighed and then smiled.  It was a school rumor that at least four people died every year from that smile.  It had no effect whatsoever on Kit, whose family had known the Ohs socially since they were both in nappies.  Fraser looked like a deer caught in the headlamp.  

“Yes,” Kit jumped in, taking pity on the Chaser.  “But I’m fairly certain there’s something in our common room this Saturday.   _When_ we win the scrimmage.” Kit smiled, cockily.  “If you can make it.”  He wasn’t expecting Orpheus to agree.

“That would be lovely.”  Orpheus was the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, a Keeper, and probably had no idea where the Hufflepuff Common Room was.  

“Um…” There was a general stir at the table.  “Wow.  See you then.”  With one last look at Kit and Fraser, Orpheus left them.

“Holy shite, mate.  Why did you invite him to our party?”  Fraser looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Was I not supposed to?  I thought _you_ were friends or something.  Weren’t you on some committee with him?   _And_ you invited me to his party last Saturday.”

“Because I didn’t want to go alone.”  

“I’ve never even been invited to the Slytherin common room,” Kit added, taking up his fork again.

“And why would he wait until Wednesday to bring it up, right?”

“Maybe he has a crush on Fraser?”  The whole table burst out into laughter at Fraser’s red face.  Intle clapped him on the back with gusto.

Fraser hastily added, “I think he just wants intel on our team.”

“He can’t have Intle!  He’s our best beater!”

“ _Har, har_ ,” Hamling added dryly.

“He’s a shite spy, then,” Daphne said, looking over her shoulder after Orpheus who had rejoined the Slytherin table.  

Kit took advantage of Daphne’s lack of attention and snatched back his Quibbler.

 

\-------------

 

_Asterope_

 

Asterope was just finishing her breakfast: yoghurt, berries, and a light sprinkling of granola when Orpheus returned to the Slytherin table.  He had a peculiar look on his face.  He almost looked thwarted… if he had ever experienced such a thing before.  She didn’t feel much like laughing about it though, as she had her own concerns.

Double Transfiguration with McGonagall.  She was hoping it would be mostly theory for the N.E.W.Ts as practical would necessitate borrowing a school wand.  Davies’ wand hated her (it had tried to burn down her nightstand) and she didn’t want anyone to notice she didn’t have hers.  Replacement would have to wait until her four free periods on Friday when Slughorn had scheduled a rep from Ollivanders to bring a selection to the school.  Even though her father had owled a new diamond tennis bracelet to compensate for detention and Iris’ howler, she was feeling particularly grumpy.  She couldn’t decide if it was the howler/gift farce with her parents or that she’d had the worst nightmare of her life the night before.

It had started innocently enough.  The Chateau in Lyonnais during summer hols.  She had been swimming with her cousins and was there in her room in the dream-way that seemed to make sense when you’re asleep.  And Davies had been there.  More particularly, Davies’ hands and their strange mobility for being so large.  And the placement of them on her backside.  Where they’d been on Saturday when she’d had to piggy-back up to Gryffindor Tower.  The dream had become so smutty that she had woken up squirming, too full of nervous energy to go back to sleep.  

She was grateful that the berk had had the good sense to make himself scarce.  

“You look like shite, Fee,” This was from Ophiuchus, brushing imaginary crumbs off his cashmere robes as he turned from his plate.  “I take it it’s not going well?”

“We’re going to the Hufflepuff party this Saturday.”

“The fuck I am.”

“We are _all_ going to the party.”  Orpheus looked at every one of them.  His brother, Ceto, Asterope, Seren Trouage, Artemis, and Ceto’s cousin, Castor Galowe.  

“I don’t even know where the Hufflepuff Common Room is,” Ceto offered by way of a roundabout argument.  Her dark hair was done up in an elaborate knot threaded with what was probably real silver thread.  It cast shifting lights on the table every time she moved her head.

Orpheus glared at her and she visibly shrank.  “I’m sure someone knows how to get there.  I’ll get someone to prepare us a folio.”

“You’re serious.”  Ophiuchus said, giving Orpheus a very long look before laughing.  “I’m going to class.  This is too much.”

Asterope, who rather liked some of the Hufflepuffs, had no problem attending.  And she didn’t even have to be covert about it as it was Court sanctioned.  Working on her yoghurt, it was Arte who first brought up the banner.  “I heard there was an attack on Gryffindor Tower last Saturday.  I’m assuming that was some of the first-years.  Rookie move.”

Asterope dropped her spoon on the floor.  And then bent over to fetch it.

“Good attempt, poor execution.  But I’m fairly certain it won’t be in the Tower.  The Gryffindor security is so lax that _everyone_ knows their password.  And the Gryffindors I’ve been able to… _interview_ … hadn’t seen anything.”

“We have to be careful with the 7th years,” the group, barring Asterope, looked over at the Gryffindor table.  Three of the 7th year boys were there.  They took up more space than anyone should be taking up.  Only Davies and his mates were missing.  “They may be muggle-born, but I know for a fact that Brown is devilishly fast with the hexes.”  At the particular moment, said Gryffindor was balancing a full cup of pumpkin juice on his forehead to a gathering group of onlookers.

“What we need is a mole.  Intelligence before assault.”

Asterope pushed back from the table.

Ceto turned towards her and narrowed her eyes.  “Don’t you have a _The Gryffindor_ in your detention?”  The perpetrator of the heinous crime against the Slytherin was now being referred to as “The Gryffindor” by Ceto who refused to use his name.  Asterope hadn’t told anyone that Davies had detention with her.  Nor that she’d broken her wand (or that Davies’ was in her _very protected_ \- and non-flammable - trunk).  There were always things you kept to yourself in the Court.  Like naughty dreams about Rhys Davies.  Or the fact that she didn’t particularly care for Ceto Lestrange, who had dated her brother Rigel for a year.  It had not ended well, but was good enough to push Ceto into the Court.

“Yes.  But I refuse to associate with him.”

“It’s not like you have to hang out with him.  Not for real, anyway.  You could just sort of flirt with him.  See if he’ll tell you anything.  With his reputation, I’m sure you could get him to say something.”  Ceto’s eyes fell on the tennis bracelet.  Asterope had never had a boyfriend.  No one had ever asked her.  And now she just didn’t know what to do with a boy.  Except dream about their hands.  Or smoke pot in their bed.

She didn’t say anything in response and they took it as assent.  “I have to go to class.”  There was no way she was going to put up with Nancy’s chatter for two hours.  When the staircase branched off, she diverted to the infirmary to get something for her headache.

 

\----------

 

_Wilkie_

 

“I just think you’re missing the implications of supplying _etel_ in the stanza,”  Wilkie said, lingering in the classroom they used for Runes Club on Wednesday evenings.  Ethel Spencer, a fourth-year, was listening with half an ear to an explanation that they hadn’t had time to go over in the meeting.  “It shifts the meaning from a, um, religious context into, well, property ownership.”  

“I’m really starting to get worried about O.W.Ls if I’m making mistakes like that.”

“Hey,” he half lifted his arm as if to pat her arm, but dropped it.  He didn’t want Ethel to feel weird.  “Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself?  You have more than a year before your O.W.L.s.”  And then, trying to make her feel better, he added, “Just wait until you get into logograms!”  

Ethel’s face went gray.

“There you are,”  Both Wilkie and Ethel turned to find Alastair Fawley standing in the doorway of the classroom.  He was in half his Quidditch kit.  He did this often and Wilkie thought it made him look dashing.  “Oh, I’m sorry, Wilkie.  I didn’t realize you were with anyone.”  

“Oh, I’m just leaving,” Ethel said, color coming back to her face as she hastily gathered up her things.  “See you next week, Wilkie.”

“Yeah.”  As soon as she slipped past Fawley, he turned towards the older boy.  Wilkie had shot up a few inches over the summer, but he was still shorter than the Prefect who filled the doorway.  “You were … looking for me?”

Fawley ran a nervous hand through the hair at the nape of his neck.  “Yeah, actually.”  He leaned back to check the hallway before he continued.  “So, I heard from the Ohs that you do assignments.  For, er, people.”

“I… _have_ …” Wilkie said cautiously.

“You see.  With all these Quidditch practices, I’ve starter to, er, _fall behind_ on some assignments.  Obviously I’m capable,” the Ravenclaw pride kicked in, “but, well, I won’t be able to keep up.  Not with the scrimmage this Saturday…” He let the sentence hang with all its attendant associations with house points and the house cup.  Wilkie cared just as much as any Ravenclaw.

“So you want me to do your homework?”  

“Not all of it.  Just some essays.”  Fawley smiled in the tight way he had, confident that Wilkie would go along with the scheme.  

Wilkie mentally calculated his time table for the next week.  Potions for Orpheus _and_ Ophiuchus, Arithmancy for Lestrange, and then his own essays in both subjects.  At least Lestrange hadn’t got the OWLs necessary to get into NEWT-level Defence.  That would have been at least another foot of text on non-verbals.  “I’m assuming the DADA?”  Fawley had Double Defense with Wilkie on Thursday mornings.  

“Yes.”  Six essays by next Thursday was probably insane.  But looking at the expectant face of someone he looked up to, Wilkie really wanted to help Fawley.  He was certain he would never have asked if he didn’t have to.  And with the Cup at stake…

“Alright.  But I won’t be able to have it done until Wednesday.”

“Tuesday night?”  Fawley hastily added, “In case I need to make revisions.”

Wilkie woke up with a start at the snap of a closing book, finding himself in the library, still.  It was five to curfew.  Across from him was the dark cloaked figure of Royse.  She was wearing black eyeshadow, lipstick, and nail polish.  She looked like a ghul.  “You were sleeping,” she said.

Wilkie rubbed his eyes.  His hands were covered in ink.  “Yeah, great deduction.”  He stretched and realized that a scrap of parchment was stuck to his cheek.  He pulled it off carefully.  “What are you doing here?”

“Watching you sleep.”

“You know that’s creepy, right?”

“Is it?”  Royse sounded genuinely surprised.

“Yes, it is.”  Wilkie started packing up, not unaware of Pince’s attention.  They were the only two people in the library.  “Where have you been all week, anyway?  I thought we were going to sit together at dinner.”

“You were serious.”  It should have been a question, but it wasn’t quite there.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, it’s your life, right?  If you didn’t want to do it, you could have just said.”

“But I did.  I just didn’t want to have to talk to you.”  Wilkie gave her a strange look.  “If I ran out of things to say.”

“If I wasn’t sure you just don’t have a brain to mouth filter, I would think you were completely barmy.”

She said nothing in her defense, just “Why are you doing everyone’s essays anyway?”

“I’m… not…”

“Unless you name is Ceto Lestrange, I would beg to differ,” she reached out for the nearest parchment before he snatched it out of her hand.  He noticed that one of her eyebrows had shot up.  He wasn’t able to do that himself.  “Are you getting paid for this?”

This time he said nothing in his defense.

“You need a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?”  He frowned.  “What’s that?”

“Someone to go demand payment for services rendered.  They can also write a cease and desist letter.”

He laughed.  “That’s okay.  I don’t mind doing it.”  He scooped the last of his things up and paused.  “Are you headed back to your dorm?”

“Maybe.”  She said quickly.  Then amended,  “Yeah, probably.”

“You seem a little...uncertain.”

“No,” she said, a black phantom walking alongside him.  She had pulled up the hood of her cloak.  “I’m just avoiding… people.”

“Maybe you need a lawyer.  For one of those cease and desist letters.”

She gave him a dark look and they walked the halls in silence.

 

\-------------

 

_Davies_

 

“What’re you dodgy blokes doing out here?”  Rhys turned towards the shout of two sixth-year Gryffindors, Eilish Hayes and Caroline Dunne, coming down from the Castle in jeans and matching jumpers, waving as if they hadn’t seen each in years.  They were as good as twins, although not related.

Trev smiled at Eilish, who he was dating, and Addy didn’t have to turn as he was already laying on the grass.  “You can’t have come out here to watch the Ravenclaws _pretending_ to play Quidditch!”  Eilish snorted, watching the practice a bit.  As a Chaser for Gryffindor, she could never let Fawley go without a swipe after a fourth-year game where he’d broken her nose with a bludger.  “God, he’s such a smarmy get.”

“Dales and Jones are hardly any better,” Caroline added, dropping unceremoniously on the damp lawn between Addy and Rhys.  

“At least Dales is fit.”  Both girls laughed.

“We’re here because Rhys had us eyeing tarts.”

Eilish laughed at the old joke.  Rhys would no more rouse himself than he would be stingy with his friends.  “It’s more likely he had you out for a spliff.”  She looked at the other people sitting around watching the practice, mostly girls, and noticed a circle of Slytherins focused around Artemis Rowle and Asterope Selwyn.  “Slim pickings in either case.”

Rhys smiled.  “Too true, love.”  It was cold, but he was only wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of black jeans, weight resting on the tripod of torso and arms.  His tattoo was black and angry on his forearm.  

“Why _are_ you out here?”  Caroline asked, her legs drawn up and circled by her arms.  She had been friends with Rhys from second-year and could recognize the signs of restlessness in him.  “I thought you were bound for London tonight.”

Addy rolled to his side to face her.  “Nixed.  After someone apparated and was _caught_ last week they’ve _finally_ closed out our avenues of escape.  At least for the time being.   _Constant vigilance_!”

“Does that mean you’ll have to actually, I dunno, practice your wand work?”  A pointed look at Rhys that went unanswered.

“Well, I did offer…” Trev wiggled his brows at Eilish who punched his arm.

“I heard it was Selwyn.”  Caroline said quietly.

“You’re taking the piss!”

“It’s true,” Caroline said.  She had been friends with Selwyn until the Slytherin dropped her for her current circle of friends.  Caro didn’t talk about Selwyn much, although she never said an unkind word about her.  Even if, Merlin knew, Selwyn deserved it.  “She just walked out of the Castle and apparated into Glasgow.  In the middle of the day.”

“What the hell would a pure-blood want in Glasgow?”  Trev asked, then added, “No offense, Caro.”

She smiled, “None taken.  But I dunno.  I guess that’s between Selwyn and Slughorn.  But I did hear she got detention out of it.”

“What I’m more interested in,” said Addy changing the subject, “is how we shore up the Tower’s defenses.  In light of Rhys’ first strike.”

Rhys smiled at that, with his eyes so it was real, finally looking away from the pitch.  Generally well-liked by the Gryffindors, he was currently a hero for swiping the Slytherin banner.  Coupled with the fact that he refused to return it even under duress.  Not having a wand was making it a bit more difficult, but he had been avoiding Slytherin congregations and keeping to the back ways of the Castle.

“I’m surprised they didn’t kick you out.”

“This school wouldn’t function without me.”

“I’ll have you know we charmed the fuck out of the Gryffindor banner.  Just in case.”  Eilish said fiercely.  

“And yet they launched a siege last Saturday.”

“A ruddy juvenile attempt.”

“Actually, that was me.  Broke out of detention and that swotty Ravenclaw...um, Wilkie, was under the couch.  I think he set it off.”  Rhys laughed at the surprise around him.  “I’d hate for Slytherin to get the credit for it - shite attempt though it was.”

“I would never’ve thought Wilkie had it in him.”

“Or that you’d have hung out with him.”

“I wanted to see if he’d do it.”  And Rhys told them about Saturday, after they’d sworn a blood oath to secrecy (which he knocked down to a spit oath as no one felt like nicking themselves).  But he didn’t mention Selwyn.  Or his wand.  Nor that they had been locked in his bed smoking and warily sussing out each other.  Nor that she had painted his mouth with pink lipstick while her hair tickled his neck.  He wasn’t sure how he felt about it.  Not yet.  

 

\------------

 

_Asterope_

 

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

Davies had cornered her in the library, deep in the Arithmancy books, where no one went until they had their NEWTs.  It was rumored that on certain nights the ghosts of the students who didn’t pass could sometimes be seen in the stacks.

“We don’t meet like this,” she said, pulling out a very large book to give her hands something to do.  “I didn’t even know you knew where the library was.”

“Just because I _don’t_ do something doesn’t mean I don’t know _how_.”  

“Is that what you tell all your paramours?”  She opened the book and pretended to look over the index.  Anything to not look directly at Davies.  His hair was longer than regulation and his black hair fell over his eyes.  Particularly when he was looking down.  And those eyes were dark and mocking.  Definitely laughing at her.

“Oh, are you one of my paramours now?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Asterope snapped back.

“Because a visit to my bed does not a paramour make.  Behind the greenhouses now…”

“You are completely disgusting.  Also keep your voice down.”

He brushed his bangs off his forehead.  But lowered his voice.  “I want my wand back.”

“Don’t we all.”

“I told you I would buy you a new wand, Selwyn.”  

“And I believe I declined that _generous_ offer.”

Something in his jaw ticked.  “If you think I’m not good for it, you’re wrong.”  He pulled a small pouch out of his pocket and threw in on the book she still had open.  “It’s all there.  7 galleons.”

Asterope stared him directly in the eyes.  “That’s a lot of money.”

“For me.  Yes.  For a poor _Mudblood_.”  His voice was calm, but she didn’t think he was.  The hair on her arms vibrated with very controlled magic.

“I… didn’t…” But hadn’t she?  She had never had to consider the value of a galleon in her whole life.  The wand had been a family thing.  It had cost her nothing.  “I’m sorry.  I made an assumption about you that wasn’t fair.  Since it’s important to you, I’ll take the money.”

“It is important to me.  I always pay my debts.  Always.”  He leaned closer.  “Now can I have my wand back?”

“I...suppose.  But it’s almost curfew.  I can’t get it and then meet you tonight.  And I certainly can’t be seen with you tomorrow.  People will notice.  It’s already highly suspicious that I’m talking to you.”

“No one is watching us.  I don’t think anyone has looked down this aisle in forty years.  And,” Davies pulled back his shoulders.  He was really very tall.  “It would probably be good for you image to be seen with me.  I’m sort of a big deal.”

Asterope snorted.  It was very not like her.  “As if.”

“Aright.  If you get my wand and then meet me behind Greenhouse 3 -- I’m not going to touch you, don’t worry -- I’ll even throw in some light _refreshment_.”

Asterope thought about it.  How angry would Iris be if she were caught?  Would her father even come to Hogwarts to ‘talk about it’?  “Alright.  But there had better be refreshment _s_.”

“You are very high maintenance.”  But he was smiling.

She almost walked past him behind Greenhouse 3 until he reached for her arm.  Asterope jumped a foot in the air.  “Merlin’s beard, Davies!”

“If you go any further, _Princess_ , you’ll run into Hagrid.”  He motioned towards an overhang that she’d not noticed before.  She gave him a haughty look and he said, “Cross my heart, _Princess_.”  She handed him his wand (which he tested for tampering) and he handed her a joint.

“You know, your little escapade cost me Judas Priest.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Of course you don’t.”  She couldn’t see it, but she heard him turn towards her.  “Why’d you do it anyway?”

“To see if anyone cares.”

“Let me tell you now, _Princess_ , no one cares.  It’s a bitch.  But it’s one of the facts of life.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Potter/Breakfast Club Crossover conceived in the over-caffeinated brains of two friends late one night.


End file.
